


Dancing with the Devil (Devour My Heart)

by itsevanffs



Series: Limerence [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandonment, Crying, Dancing, Dancing Lessons, Deal with a Devil, Demons, M/M, Sad Ending, Sort Of, Soul Selling, You're Welcome, also ish, ish, isn't it, just sad, my god this is vague, well actually no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24393616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsevanffs/pseuds/itsevanffs
Summary: -I want to make a deal.-Yeah?-I want you to make me the best dancer in the world.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Limerence [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1476734
Comments: 31
Kudos: 70





	Dancing with the Devil (Devour My Heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sh4pe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sh4pe/gifts).



> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66VnOdk6oto

_ I want to make a deal. _

"What is this?" one judge cried. "is this a joke?"

Harry stared at them with shock. One of them had begun to laugh loudly, while the others were sneering and shaking their heads.

"Forget it, kid. It's not gonna happen. Go home. We're done here."

"But-"

"Don't waste more of my time. Go. Out!"

_ Yeah? _

Harry ran out, his face hot. "Don't cry, don't cry," he whispered to himself. "Don't," he swallowed quickly. "Don't cry."

But he could feel his eyes sting and his nose clog, so he barged through the crowd waiting behind the doors to the studio and dove into the bathroom, locking himself into a stall.

_ I want you to make me the best dancer in the world. _

Ugly sobs escaped his throat, tearing it raw as his eyes flooded and his nose dripped. He sat hunched in a corner, his arms shielding his face from an invisible evil.

It was late when he came out. There were few left, and the ones that were were not the ones who had seen him before.

Harry felt grateful for the chill night air when he stepped outside.

A thin layer of fog lay on the street, undisturbed by his dragging feet.

_ You don't know what you're saying, kid. _

He headed for a bar. His black hair lay loose in its fastening, messed over from his wandering, panicked hands. He'd taken a lot of care to make it presentable that morning. For nothing, he supposed.

He was on his fourth glass and relatively blurry-eyed when he noticed someone sitting next to him.

_ I'll do anything. _

"Anything, huh?" the man hummed, his voice deep and gravelly, rumbling pleasantly through Harry's stomach.

Harry nodded defeatedly.

"Okay," the man said. "I have a proposal."

_ I'll give you what you want, and I'll take something in return of equal value. _

_ What will you take? _

_ You'll know when I'm gone. _

"I'll be there. Tomorrow, at midnight."

Harry nodded and finished his glass.

"You should get home," the man told him in all seriousness. "You don't look so good."

_ Thank you. _

Harry lifted his head from his arms from where they rested on his drawn knees.

"It's you. I thought you wouldn't come."

The man smiled devilishly and shook his head. He looked younger, somehow. Maybe it was the fact that the light scrape of black on his jaw was gone. Harry's eyes drooped and flicked off to the side, and he rested his chin on his arms once more.

"Stand up, handsome. I never break my word."

Harry complied with a small sigh, groaning quietly when his back cracked softly and cast his eyes to the silhouette standing with a statuesque grace under the moonlit windows.

"How will you make me the best dancer in the world?" Harry asked, curious but to a half-hearted degree.

_ Teach you, of course. _

Days passed, and then weeks, and then months as Harry and his partner swept across the moonlit floors of his studio apartment.

Harry knew their time together was coming to an end, as the competition's trials drew closer and closer and the year had almost turned.

He looked at the future with a sense of loss. He had become so used to Tom's constant nightly presence that he had ceased to understand what it felt like to spend your evenings alone, isolated from the world.

There was a low hollow in his chest, he realised one morning after opening his eyes. It went away when Tom was there, but it returned when he left.

Harry wondered why.

Tomorrow was the last day.

Harry knew his routine by heart, having practiced both with Tom's support and without it, and with him as a duet.

He sat curled up against the wall, his chin tucked against his shoulder.

A rush of air caressed his face. Somehow, Harry overflowed with tranquility- something he didn't know he was missing.

"Tom." His voice was quiet, a murmur, but he knew the man could hear him perfectly. He always did.

"Harry."

There was a moment, a pause, pregnant, but not quite.

"Shall we start?" the man asked, his voice low, gravelly but smooth. A living contradiction.

Harry nodded, but didn't get up.

Another pause. Tom waited patiently. He always did.

"Last time." Harry said it softly, a simple observation, not quite a command, nor a question.

"Yes, Harry. The last time."

Harry slowly rose to his feet, and then to his toes.

He stepped deliberately over to Tom, timed strides balanced on his toes as the music started playing in his head. His hand lifted in a form of acceptance to the open palm that lay read for him.

The moment he touched it, there was a spark. Harry closed his eyes, ignoring everything and letting his body do the work as it twisted and contorted cruelly, obedient to Tom's guiding hand.

A second spark followed, more violent and more painful than the first. Harry ignored it. He jumped and twisted in the air, landing silently in Tom's arms.

Harry ignored the heavier, longer, more painful sparks that followed with every contact they made, gasping when, wrapped in Tom's arms one last time, the finale of the routine, his back set on fire where it pressed against the man's chest.

Harry struggled against Tom's grip, crying out weakly when the man's arms tightened. Tom made soothing shushing noises and Harry relaxed slowly against the fire in his back, sobbing quietly when it slowly waned and left him... empty.

Harry fell to his knees, embracing himself as he pressed against the floor in a vain attempt to gain back whatever he had lost, whatever was taken.

Tom was gone, a rush of air and the stretch of leather. The curtains billowed gently in the passing breeze.

Harry didn't know what was taken, he just knew that he wanted, needed it back.

The next morning was a nightmare. He'd managed to get through to the finale while he practiced with . The judges had been replaced, but they had been moved to the finale.

Harry didn't know if he wanted to go through with it.

He felt heavy.

Everything looked dull. The windchime he used to love made a hollow noise, and the sun was too bright, and the streets too grey. The sky was dull, not its usual, vibrant blue.

He got up with effort and made himself coffee, sipping it with a look of indifference. The taste felt flat, not rich as it had before, and it was too hot, too cold, too watery.

Harry gritted his teeth and showered, focusing purely on the competition - _ what was the point? They were going to laugh at him anyways, they always did _ \- and forced himself to concentrate.

He took the bus to the theatre and signed in.

No backing out now.

He moved with a lethargic speed he didn’t understand. Time moved in fast motion, the people buzzing around him like working bees. Laughter was too loud, too sharp, and voices were a constant dull hum in his ears. When he was finally alone, slow as he was, the silence was too heavy, pressing him down.

Harry finally entered the waiting room after an eternity. There were barely ten people still there, half of them waiting on each other’s turns. Harry sat in a corner, alone.

The room cleared out at the same speed as the changing rooms, but it still felt like an eternity. Every moment, the void in his chest was pressing down on him, robbing him of breath and sending his mind into spirals, imploding, then exploding with triple the force, forcing tears to his eyes and  _ nothing  _ at the same time-

“Harry Potter?” A woman asked, peering into the room. Harry's head snapped up.

“Y-yeah, that’s me.” He stood on shaky legs, smoothing the fabric of his leotard across his stomach, which had toned from intense hours of practicing with Tom. His tights were almost too tight, now, but they felt grounding.

He stepped on the podium and got in position as the music started. One, two, three steps, slow, deliberate, and a hand pressed into another  _ that wasn’t there _ . He didn’t notice the judges starting to mutter -’ _ why is he…’ ‘there’s no one else there…’ ‘a duet? _ ’, lost in the contortions of his body as the introduction’s tempo increased, and bled over into the main song.

Now, a jump, assisted by the hands of his dancing partner. There. Tom smiled at him, a ghost in all senses of the word, and his hand followed to support Harry as he jumped and set pressure on thin air-

_ Harry had, years later, still no idea what had been taken from him by the demon he’d bargained with. The world was still gray and dull, and his memories all felt ashy and coarse. All he had was dance; Harry turned his head towards the wall of his penthouse, which he had acquired not too long ago in exchange for doing his famous dance in front of an audience of thirty-thousand people, including members of high society and the royal garden, and eyed his numerous trophies with dull eyes. _

_ Harry thought it might have been his happiness that was taken, but when his friend had birthed a little boy, he had felt… well, he wasn’t sure what it was, but it was warmer than the void in his chest. _

_ The wind chime rang softly in the passing breeze, and Harry's eyes turned to it in that lethargic way he was often criticised for. The media loved claiming he was heartless, that he simply didn’t care, thought himself above others… Then again, he had not told them they were wrong. Once, someone had asked about it in an interview, and Harry had replied, “focus not on my heart, but on my dance- that is what you came for, after all, and in my life, one cannot exist alongside the other. _

_ “That's all there is to it; I chose to dance.” _

-to propel himself into a perfect pirouette in the air, and landed exactly like all those many times before, halted from stepping too far by that hand, and that touch, that sparked a life in him. The music swelled and waned, and one of the judges started sobbing- loud, ugly wails, but even as it drowned out the music in his ears, the music in his head overpowered her feelings.

A smile lifted to Harry's face, melancholy as much as it was overjoyed, and as the music softened and slowed for the last time, Harry swayed in steady steps toward the ghost, grasping his hand, wrapping himself in his arms, his back to his chest, and there was only cold as the music faded, and those arms faded, and the colour faded, and his strength faded,

And Harry didn’t even feel himself fall to his knees, eyes wide, as tears sprung up and ran down his cheeks.

“He’s gone,” he whispered brokenly into the silence, as all the judges looked at him, concerned- all of them with tear-tracks on their faces, all of them half-risen from their chairs to rush to his aid. “He’s gone.”

And he _was_ \- and Harry became world-famous for his impossible dance.

**Author's Note:**

> bonk, here's my discord.
> 
> https://discord.gg/k2zQnuV
> 
> knob, here's my tumblr.
> 
> https://its-evan-ffs.tumblr.com/


End file.
